


The Majority Rule

by Foophile



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not Related, Alternate Universe - Politics, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 11:05:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5965006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foophile/pseuds/Foophile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael Scofield is running for U.S. House of Representatives in Indiana's 7th District. With 18 months until Indiana's primary election, he's hired an ex-Marine Lincoln Burrows to be his campaign manager and lead him to victory. </p><p>Originally started in 2008. Permanently unfinished.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I loved this fic wholeheartedly when I began it. It had all of the elements in an AU that I've wanted to write about for ages. And I was plugging along nicely for a few months until I hit a wall. I've tried to pick up the pieces of this story for many years and very well may find my footing again, but for now I'm posting what I have to AO3 for safe keeping.

“The hardest thing about any political campaign is how to win without proving that you are unworthy of winning.” – Adlai E. Stevenson, Governor of Illinois (1949-53)

_November_

“Michael! Michael, say that you saw Donovan challenge you last night!”

Michael Scofield, 32 year old Indiana candidate for the U.S. House of Representatives, smirked over his shoulder.

“Oh, was that on last night?” His grin widened as Sara narrowed her bright eyes in anger.

She flipped her long brown hair over her shoulder. “No one likes a funny politician, Michael.”

“Did the research on that one did you?” They both dodged the mass of interns working like mad in his small Campaign Headquarters in Indianapolis and closed the door to his office. It did nothing to shut out the constant ringing of phones or buzz of conversation.

“I’d pelt you with something but I don’t want to cause a scene if the local news drops by,” Sara’s voice was wry and she cracked a pretty smile.

Michael took off his coat and hung it on a rack. “Alright, since she challenged me to a duel, when is the debate?”

Sara sat with a sigh in an office chair, crossing her legs. “That’s the thing. Her people haven’t called.”

“So you’re getting permission to call her?” Michael asked.

“Are you sure that’s the best thing to do when you’re um…,” Sara trailed off, clearly uneasy with her choice of words.

“Switching teams?” Sara was the only person who knew the real reason why he was changing political parties at the beginning of his campaign. Michael’s family still thought he was suffering from temporary insanity.

His PR and scheduling coordinator of three months was a former relations consultant who dropped everything when her father, the incumbent Representative for the 7th District, was diagnosed with cancer and died soon after. Sara and Michael had been friends since they attended Roncalli High School almost fifteen years ago, so when Michael announced that he was running to fill her father’s shoes, she joined the campaign within the week.

Michael checked the latest paper and his thick stack of mail. “Actually, yeah. I think this is the perfect time to do a debate. Veronica is no less my opponent because we’re now in the same party.” He grinned at Sara’s face when he mentioned Veronica Donovan, his opponent and former law school classmate.

“At the end of 18 months there is only going to be one Representative in Congress. Plus, I’m losing financing by the second, which you well know. If I can get some clout with the conservative Dems that Ronni’s attitude’s driven away, I might have a chance of recovering by the end of the year.”

“If you do an interview with Channel 6 by this weekend, I guarantee you’ll do more than that,” A man’s voice said at the office door.

Both set of eyes turned to the burly, sharply dressed man standing there. Sara stood abruptly and Michael, as he was already standing, stood taller. He met the stranger’s green stare and felt something roll in his gut.

Michael wanted to attribute it to the cold coffee he’d chugged that morning rather than the little voice in his head that gulped at the attractive newcomer.

“Is it 9 o’clock already?” Sara put out her hand for the man to shake. “Michael Scofield, our candidate, this is Major Lincoln Burrows, your new Campaign Manager. I’m Sara Tancredi, PR coordinator.”

“It’s nice to meet you Sara. I met your father once on the road. He was a very good man.” Lincoln’s eyes flickered to Sara long enough to give his sympathies before they went back to Michael who was coming around his desk. “Mr. Scofield, pleasure to finally meet you.”

Michael noticed the look, shook Lincoln’s hand firmly and immediately tried not to blush or worse.

Lincoln’s face was chiseled perfection. A strong jaw, forehead, and nose framed thick lips and dark penetrating eyes that Michael hadn’t been able to look away from yet. His wide shoulders stretched the tailored fabric of his suit jacket and accented the fitness of the rest of his body.

Michael could have slapped himself for gawking, even mentally. “Please, call me Michael. I’m sorry we weren’t able to meet before you were hired but your resume was too impressive to pass up.”

“That’s quite all right. It’s a relief to get back into the swing of things.” Lincoln gave him a brief smile.

Michael remembered Sara telling him something about Lincoln taking a break from campaigning to take care of his ill mother. “I hope your mother’s doing better?”

When Lincoln’s grin turned into a genuine smile, Michael knew he was in trouble. “Much better. We’re expecting a full recovery. It really helps that you’re running in my home state.”

“Glad that we could keep you close.” Michael was certain he was smiling like a fool and a glance at Sara only confirmed it. Her eyes were practically dancing with a mix of mirth and not a little bit of fear.

Michael knew that he could be somewhat reticent around new people but something about Lincoln put him at ease. That trait was probably why the campaign manager was so good at his job.

Lincoln must have noticed the shift in attention and he addressed Sara. “So, what’s on the schedule for today, coordinator?”

Sara snapped to attention. “How about while Michael reads his latest poll results and priority mail, I introduce you to the only other paid employee on the campaign so far, Gillian, our finance manager. She actually knows all of the intern’s names.”

“We really are starting from scratch, huh?” Lincoln tilted his head in amusement at Michael who nodded. “Well, lead on then. The sooner we can hire more people, the sooner we can win.”

Sara lead him out with a smile and mouthed what might have been ‘he’s a keeper’ over her shoulder. Michael could only sigh and nod in agreement, certain that the election just might end his sanity.  
__

Lincoln’s first impression of his new boss was ‘too young’ and then, directly afterward, ‘entirely too pretty’. Slim, dark haired, and with gentle, intelligent eyes, Michael Scofield was obviously a man who had plenty of opportunity to succeed and probably never failed.

As Lincoln sat in his new office four days later, he couldn’t help occasionally looking up from his laptop and through his open door to the young candidate’s office across the busy floor. He hadn’t planned on joining Scofield’s campaign and then, for no reason at all, Michael had switched his party affiliation from Republican to Democrat and set the whole city abuzz.

Lincoln always thought that a little controversy could help gain momentum for a young candidate, could possibly make them successful. He joined after his mother was given a clean bill of health not only to add another win to his resume but so he could figure out Scofield’s big secret.

There was a booming laugh from Michael’s office and Lincoln stopped pretending to type to watch the young man throw back his head at something Sara said, his smile shining. The man seemed authentic, real, and Lincoln thought that it would be so easy for someone cruel to come along and eat Michael alive.

He knew from press alone that Michael graduated at the top of his class from Notre Dame Law School and immediately was hired to one of the most prodigious firms back home in Indianapolis. Michael’s father was Aldo Scofield, a retired FBI agent who became a popular Comparative Politics professor at DePauw University.

And his mother, Karen, was the oldest daughter of the distinguished (and filthy rich) Winslow family, whose father was the fourth of five generations of Indiana judges. Michael’s uncle, Brian Winslow, was currently sitting his third term with the Indiana Supreme Court.

The kid was practically a shoe in for a political future. A wealthy only child, driven by his family’s expectations and with nowhere else to go professionally but up. It almost wasn’t fair that someone so privileged should be someone with integrity.

If Lincoln wasn’t so preoccupied with running the man’s campaign and turning his eyes away from the way Michael’s tailored suit pants stretched perfectly across his ass, he’d be way more suspicious.

He reminded himself of how close Michael and Sara seemed to be yesterday and, most importantly, that the man was an American politician, nearly synonymous with straight or at least very deep in the closet.

“Hey Major.”

Lincoln’s eyes focused on the man he’d just been thinking about, framed in a model pose at his office door. He sat back in his seat and swallowed back a rush of anxiety.

“I’m not in the Marines anymore, Michael. It’s just Lincoln.”

Michael grinned, “Alright. Linc, you feel like lunch?”

Lincoln blinked at the nickname but didn’t correct him. It sounded natural coming from Michael. “Yeah, sure. Ordering out?”

“Going out. I’ve been cooped up in here all day.” Michael slid into the seat opposite Lincoln’s desk. “We need to go out amongst the masses. Show some small business my support.”

“You could just admit that you’re buzzed from all the caffeine.”

Michael’s perfect teeth flashed again, “Well, that too.”

Lincoln stood quickly, thinking that if he had to sit and watch Michael grin at him any longer he might just leap across the desk and lose his job before it started. “Then let’s go.” He pulled on his jacket. “Do you and Sara have a favorite spot?”

Michael followed him out of his office and closed the door behind him. “Yeah, usually. But she’s busy right now. Figured I would take you to my favorite.”

Lincoln tried not to read more into that. He waited while Michael pulled on his coat and closed his office and they stepped out into the rainy afternoon. “Pizza and beer, huh?”

“The best in the city,” Michael said over his shoulder.  
__

“So tell me about yourself, Linc.”

Michael almost laughed at the look on the older man’s face. They were sitting in Some Guys Pizza and waiting on a pie loaded with three different meats and the place was pretty empty. The owner knew him and wasn’t impressed with a possible Congressman sitting in his restaurant when Michael when as a child he’d stuffed himself so full of pizza that he’d puked on the sidewalk.

Lincoln’s face was flat across the booth. Michael sat up. “I’m only half serious. We’re going to be around each other pretty much 24/7 for the next year and a half, so I just want to get to know you.”

“Ask me something then,” Lincoln said rolling up his shirt sleeves. Michael watched his forearms bulge and looked away. He racked his brain for a question that didn’t involve boxers or briefs.

“Any brothers or sisters?”

“Nope. My dad died when I was little and my mom was always busy working.” Lincoln seemed like he was memorizing Michael’s face, was boring those dark eyes into him, and Michael wished he was bothered by it.

“Is that why you went to military school?”

Lincoln’s grin was crooked. “That was part of the reason why I was put in military school.” Michael just lifted an eyebrow and he continued. “When I was 15 I was busted for stealing a car, then the next year I got caught drinking while I was stealing another.”

Michael whistled his eyes wide.

“So, my mom was a social worker and somehow got the money together to ship me off to Howe. From there I made the grades and got scholarships to carry me the rest of the way.”

“So you liked it?”

“Hell, no,” Lincoln chuckled and looked at the scratched up table in front of them. Michael felt like he was watching something private.

“I hated it. When I got into The Citadel I actually cried. But I needed the structure and learned to appreciate the discipline. There’s a lot of individual attention when you’re in an atmosphere like that, more than most people think. They really want you to succeed.”

Michael nodded. “So you enlisted.”

“The best decision I’ve ever made,” Lincoln responded firmly. “And I worked with the best men I’ve ever met for ten years, going all over the world. Seeing and experiencing things I’d never thought I would.” Lincoln seemed to see Michael’s next question. “So why did I leave?”

He sighed. “I didn’t know anything else. I had a degree that I wasn’t using and I’d grown way beyond that car boosting punk I used to be. I’d done my part and advanced as far as I wanted to.” His intense stare fixed on Michael again and a chill went down his spine. “Also, I’m bi-sexual and got tired of having to watch my back.”

Michael put down his water just before he dropped it in his lap. He was silent for so long that Lincoln’s face went stony.

“Is that going to be a problem?”

“No,” Michael exclaimed, a little too loudly. The waitress brought their pizza and Michael held his tongue. On the contrary, he thought. Michael was barely staying in his seat.

Lincoln ignored the pizza. “I know that you’re still pretty conservative but I wouldn’t have taken this job if I thought that you were a bigot.”

“And I’m not. Not at all. That’s actually why I couldn’t stay with my family’s party anymore.” Michael steeled himself. He didn’t know why he was being so candid with someone he’d only just met, maybe because Lincoln had been so honest with him.

Admitting his sexuality to his best friend was hard enough after years of being told he was wrong. Coming out to a stranger, no matter how comfortable around them he felt, was still a little like waiting for the firing squad. “I’m gay.”

Lincoln didn’t say anything, maybe waiting to see if he was lying. Michael tried to explain.

“I was raised Roman Catholic. Told that what I wanted since high school was evil and I thought that one day I would change and just find the right girl, give my mother the family she wanted but…I guess I just got tired of fighting for something I didn’t believe.”

He sighed, looking up from his hands to see if Lincoln was even still there. Lincoln looked like he hadn’t even blinked and that gave him the courage to continue.

“Look, if there’s one thing that so many years of going to mass taught me, it was that no one should have to live a lie and that we should always treat others the way we wished to be treated. I was living a lie and telling others to do the same.”

The pizza wasn’t appetizing anymore but Michael took a piece of pepperoni off and ate it to fill the silence.

“That’s very brave, Michael. I’m guessing you haven’t told your family the real reason for your switch,” Lincoln said after a long pause. He grinned and Michael felt like he could take a deep breath.

“I told myself that I would do it after the election.”

“After you got their contribution, you mean.”

Michael shook his head, “It’s not like that. I just don’t know…”

Lincoln interrupted with an amazed chuckle. “You’re the real deal aren’t you?” He held a hand up when Michael sputtered. “Don’t bother, just eat your pizza.”

They sat eating for a while, trading appreciative grunts over the taste until Michael wiped his mouth and mumbled, “So, you’re staying on? Even now, after you know everything?”

“Why shouldn’t I? I’m glad that you were honest with me and didn’t try to hide it. God knows I don’t like to be surprised by any skeletons in the closet, excuse the pun. You don’t have any secret boyfriends out there who have a grudge do you?” Lincoln’s eyes narrowed. “Does Sara know? She’s cool but I don’t think she’ll be down with the idea of her boyfriend batting for the home team.”

Michael laughed. “Sara and I aren’t together. We’ve been friends for years. She’s actually the only person I’ve told other than you.”

“And?” Lincoln asked around a bite.

“Oh!” Michael blinked at the sight of Lincoln’s cheek bulging. “No, no boyfriends. I’ve never even um…”

Lincoln threw down his slice. “Never. Not possible, I don’t believe you. You’re not a virgin are you?”

“No,” Michael’s face was burning. “I lost it to a girl and I swear my mother was happier than I was. And with guys, I could only bring myself to fool around a bit before I started feeling guilty or thought that someone might see.”

“Good old Catholic guilt.” Lincoln emphasized with a bite.

Michael sat back in the booth with a huff. “I guess so.”

“It’s a shame,” Lincoln said absentmindedly. “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous.”

Michael thought he misheard until he watched the playful grin grow on Lincoln’s face. He kicked what he thought was a knee under the table. “Shut up.”

Lincoln wiped his greasy mouth. “I’m serious, Michael. I might have left the Marines earlier if I’d seen you.”

Michael ignored the twitch in his pants and cleared his throat. “So, is there a boyfriend or girlfriend back home?”

“No, neither,” Lincoln said. He took a drink of water and licked his lips. “I prefer men by the way.”

Michael’s breath hitched. “Good to know,” He said quickly, wondering when he’d turned into a girl.

“I’m glad you told me everything. It will really help since we’ll be spending so much time together for the campaign. Like you said.” Lincoln’s grin was flirtatious and Michael’s whole body went warm.

He thought about his earlier words and had to return the smile. “This is a pretty long lunch.”

“Working lunch. This is a new campaign, working from scratch, if you haven’t heard.”

Michael put his elbows on the table, leaning forward and trying to appear innocent. “Imagine how much work is ahead.”

Lincoln might have tried to mimic the look but ended up making Michael laugh. “That 24/7 kind of work you were talking about.”

“I’m already tired,” Michael sighed. Lincoln’s knee rubbed against his under the table and he shivered.

The grin faded slowly from Lincoln’s face and reality came rushing back into their bubble of comradery. “It is going to be a lot of work, Michael. And it won’t be easy. But keep that attitude. It’ll be the only thing that will keep your head above water when the tides try to drown you.”

Michael nodded sincerely. “You’ll be there to remind me.” He didn’t let the sentence become a question and grinned when Lincoln figured that out.

“Yeah, Mike, I will.”

Michael grabbed his wallet from his coat and waved Lincoln off as he paid for the pizza. When they stood to leave, Lincoln brushed by him, a wide hand skimming across his shoulders. Lincoln’s stride was confident to the door but Michael almost tripped over his feet.

“Come on,” Lincoln beckoned, holding the door open. His tiny smirk was a cruel tease.

Michael wasn’t sure where the flirtation was leading, he had his fantasies, but he considered himself lucky to have at least found another ally.


	2. Chapter 2

_November_ , 2 Weeks Later

“How do I tell a single-parent with kids that in order for them to have lower taxes, they have to live with significant cuts to state programs that affect the education of her children?”

Michael frowned a hole into the pages of concerns collected at the forum they’d just left. It had been two weeks since he’d hired Lincoln as campaign manager and the man had managed to not only drum up enough interest in the campaign to get a few locals to answer questionnaires but he also organized Michael’s first public forum at the War Memorial.

Unfortunately, neither Lincoln nor Michael had been able to bar Veronica Donovan from strolling in with a personal videographer and a small group of heckling homeowners.

“Or that I can’t propose laws to keep people in the suburbs rather than the cities,” Michael questioned, talking to himself. The Indianapolis skyline whizzed by the car window as it took them back to headquarters. Lincoln sat next to him in the backseat with his Palm Pilot in one hand and Michael’s date book in the other.

Michael kept scribbling away on his yellow notepad, mumbling all the while. He wasn’t sure if he should be annoyed at the outcome of his public meeting or horrified. He thought it was a sign that Sara had driven away in her own car and shoved Lincoln in next to Michael.

“Or laws that stop private business from exporting their industry and firing their local workers while also supporting those businesses because they’re encouraging local consumers with cheaper products? Or-,”

Lincoln interrupted. “Michael, I think you need to take a breath. Donovan aggravated the press and I don’t know if you were noticing but she wasn’t answering anyone’s questions,” He stabbed particularly hard at his touch screen once before he put it back into his suit jacket. “She probably paid those people to ask them in the first place so she could sit in the back and glower.”

“That doesn’t take away the validity of the questions, Linc. People aren’t complaining about their property taxes just because they’re cheap. There are Hoosiers out there who are out of work and were barely paying the bills with employment. People all over the country are groping for money, putting everything they own into shaky business ventures or a schizophrenic stock market while the rich spend more than ever,” Michael stared out the window as the Indianapolis skyline darkened to dusky gray.

“The average politician raises millions of dollars to campaign for a position which is, in concept, free to all people. Why can’t I just give the money away, Lincoln? Why can’t I just stop this car and go out there and give away my wallet?”

Lincoln seemed to think about the question, quiet until Michael turned to him with inquisitive eyes.

“Well, first of all the money you raise, isn’t yours. It’s given to you by people who believe in you. And secondly, as lovely as the concept of a free democracy is, it isn’t and has never been free. People have and will continue to die over it. For it. You know that as well as I. And thirdly, Michael if you go out there and give someone your wallet, not only would they probably steal your identity and rack up your credit cards with endless charges, but the media would label you a lunatic or a grand stander, and there would still be people out there who needed your wallet more than that person.”

Lincoln was right, Michael all of it already but he’d hated the stab of fear that Donovan’s appearance had dealt. The sudden loss of confidence when minutes before he’d sat in front of people he considered his friends and neighbors had left him weak in the knees. Something Donovan, who’d seen his struggle with public speaking extensively in law school, knew first hand.

“There would still be people who would need help that your wallet couldn’t provide.” Lincoln continued, holding Michael’s gaze. “But you’re in a position, afforded to you by the money that other people who believe in you give, that can help those others more. You can create legislation that would mean more than a hand out. And isn’t that what matters more?

“We’ve seen, lived, that legislation lasts longer than one man’s wallet. Even a hundred wallets. Just or unjust, legislation in this country determines the fate of every person in it, overwhelmingly, and carried by the belief of people alone. You’re a lawyer, you know better than I that laws are simply rules by which people agree to follow for their own health and safety. Agree to follow. When you’re elected, you will have the chance to propose ideas that will shape other’s beliefs.

“Finally,” Lincoln smiled at the end of his discourse. Michael stared in awe at the strength, and length, of Lincoln’s convictions. “The car door locks from the front anyway, you wouldn’t be able to just stop and hop out without explaining your plan to the driver and you’ll look like an idiot. You’re a good man, Michael. The fact that you’re even asking what more you can do is why people believe in you. You just have to believe in yourself.”

Michael silently watched Lincoln across the seat, the top button of his dress shirt open and his body relaxed into the leather. The car rocked as it went over a pothole.

“Did you practice that first?” Michael quipped, an eyebrow arched. “Write it down somewhere?”

Lincoln’s smile widened. “Yeah, it’s right here.” He pretended to reach into his suit pocket and pulled out his middle finger. “Sara told me that you were a soft hearted, Mother Theresa type and I thought I should have something prepared.”

Michael laughed. The knot he’d had in his belly since the forum relaxed.

“Look, I appreciate the pep talk really but I hope you understand that I’m not campaigning for the publicity, I want to do something and be a bigger part of the process than I am now as a lawyer. I don’t think that running should be based on grand gestures or personality. Things like that have become too much a part of politics and I don’t think the people trust it. But if I can get people to believe in me, if I can get you to believe in me, then you’re right. That’s all that matters.”

He glanced down at his notes and bit his lip before he added, “You know, you speak of belief like a religious man.”

Lincoln shrugged. “I never said I wasn’t. I’ve been to war, Michael. You have to believe that something’s saving your ass when the bullets are flying.”

“So that was when you became a preacher,” Michael said as if he were making a discovery. At Lincoln’s sharp look, he gave him a wry grin.

Lincoln’s thick hand shot out and Michael ducked his head as the back of his neck was held and squeezed gently. He shivered as the touch softened even more and Lincoln’s blunt nails scraped through his short hair.

“Sara told me that you thought you were the next Robin Williams. She’s right, you know, no one likes a funny politician.” Lincoln’s voice was almost a whisper.

Michael cleared his throat, trying not to lean into the contact. “Have to laugh to keep from going over the mistakes.” He spoke over Lincoln when it looked like he might interrupt. “It wasn’t that bad, I know. The next one will be better. I just hate when my plans fall apart. And Veronica seems to know them all somehow.”

“Yeah, Sara’s working on that, but the meeting was publicized. We can’t call it a leak.” Lincoln’s hand had slid down to his shoulder and Michael caught his gaze, nodding to the driver before Lincoln dropped it to his side.

For the past week touches, from both men, had become more frequent. Both of them acknowledged how bad a relationship would be to the campaign but the long hours so far had only brought them closer together.

Michael had arranged for his driver to pick up Lincoln in the mornings so that they could coordinate plans for the day before they arrived at headquarters. Then, sometimes along with Sara and a few others, they had a working lunch and dinner. Lincoln had even started coming over Michael’s apartment in the evenings. But that had only happened twice so far when Michael needed an ear to critique his speech or read over a press release before he handed it over to Sara.

After nightly dreams that ended with sweaty sheets, Michael was certain that he wanted Lincoln. More than that, Michael liked him as a friend and the feeling seemed to be mutual. However, Lincoln hadn’t expressed more than his agreement that a relationship would be bad, a few teases to set Michael blushing, and a change of subject.

So Michael went along with it for now. He had other things to worry about that were a good deal more uncomfortable than his reactions Lincoln’s touch. After all, there was still one important thing he was keeping from his manager.

He swallowed and took his date book from Lincoln’s side. There were a handful of new dates written in Lincoln’s red scrawl over the next few weeks and he smirked. “Maybe you should be running instead.”

“Couldn’t do it now,” Lincoln said, turning his grinning face to the window. “Used up my word ration for the week babying your ass.”  
__

“Your mother called,” Sara informed Michael a few days later.

It was one day after the Council Economic Development Committee assembled and Michael was reading the notes of the meeting. In the growing pile on his desk were also the latest press releases of the Marion County Prosecutors Office, the Auditor, the Mayor, and the Department of Public Works. He’d already started the morning with the latest House petitions, those he hadn’t already seen the day before on C-Span.

His eyes hadn’t felt so numb since law school but he loved the feeling. After the forum, he felt re-energized and entirely focused on the campaign. Thoughts of Lincoln, beyond the role of manager, had been forced the back of his mind and the last thing he wanted to hear was what his mother had to say, even if it was about Thanksgiving. Odds were, Michael considered, she wanted to complain about her involvement in the campaign.

Sara continued at his silence, a small smile on her lips. “She wants you to bring Lincoln around for dinner on Sunday.”

“Don’t I have that…thing on Sunday?” Michael flipped a page.

“You mean that dinner,” Sara paused as if to think. “With your parents? Where you were going to beg for money and bring Lincoln along like your mother asked?”

Michael put down his papers at the laughter in her voice. “I’m not a child, Sara.”

“Good to know. Should I call and confirm for you?”

“No, I’ll do it myself. I haven’t spoken to her for a month.” Michael felt only a bit guilty about that.

Sara’s grin widened. , silently teasing him while Michael started to wonder if she was trying to imply something else. “You might want to get your arguments ready. Maybe Lincoln will help you out so you can get a word in.”

“I’m a lawyer, Sara. What’s this-,”

She interrupted him. “They’re your parents, not a jury. Lincoln can hold them off while you explain why you changed parties.”

“You’re no good at being coy, Sara. Say whatever you need to say.” Michael barely kept the annoyance out of his voice.

Sara sat back in her seat, no longer smiling. “You’re spending a lot of time with Lincoln. So much so that your parents have noticed. Maybe you two should be careful.”

“I spend a lot of time with you too, Sara. And Lincoln is my campaign manager,” Michael insisted. “You’re seeing something that isn’t there just because I told you that I thought he was attractive. We’ve remained professional and it’s not right for you to assume that-,”

“Oh please, Mike,” Sara interjected again. “I have eyes and I know what you’re like when you have a crush. To be honest, at first I was afraid for you since I could tell that the feelings were reciprocated but now, I can see that he’s good for you. You’re more confident and I actually think that your parents just want to give you both the third degree over the campaign. But if you two are together-,”

“Which we’re not,” Michael said.

Sara rolled her eyes. “If you two are together then you should go over your plan of attack with Lincoln ‘cause your dad is scary enough with the whole FBI training thing but your mom too?” She shivered dramatically and Michael had to silently agree. “They’re going to see right through you, Mike. And that’s what I’m scared of.”

Michael sighed. “It’s been barely a three weeks; I think you’re over reacting.”

“I’m sure I am. I just think that as carefully as we’re planning this campaign, you also need to be planning for the unexpected.”

Michael gave her a brooding look but nodded. Perhaps he’d been wrong to think his growing attraction to Lincoln would go away without being addressed. He sighed, “‘To expect the unexpected shows a thoroughly modern intellect.’ I doubt the President had this problem though.”

Sara chuckled, standing with her loaded clip board. “There’s been a massive cover up if he has. I’ll get Gillian’s current list of contributors to you by the end of the day and set up that meeting with your old boss, Mr. Corbett, so you can take a breather this weekend. And I’m not even going to make a joke about you quoting Oscar Wilde.” She winked as she shut the door behind her.  
__

By Friday night, Michael still couldn’t come up with a way to tell Lincoln about his mother’s summons. She’d seemed very agreeable on the phone, almost excited, and Michael’s stomach dropped. Sunday could be the last day of his sanity.

An interview with the Indianapolis Recorder, a local African American newspaper, had gone very well. So well that Lincoln suggested a night off and a large dinner to rally the workers and thank them for their support thus far. Lincoln even paid the check.

Michael was full to bursting on pasta primavera and hoping for some inspiration as he led Lincoln into his apartment. There was no reason for the late night but Lincoln hadn’t inquired before he’d agreed in the car. That gave Michael some hope along with a healthy dose of trepidation.

Lincoln sat on his couch with a grunt. “I still can’t get over your condo.” He looked around the dark wood living room and tilted his head back at artistic inset lighting in the circular vaulted ceiling with crown molding. “Must have been ridiculously expensive.”

Michael took off his suit jacket and went into the kitchen to start the coffeemaker. “Yeah, I was lucky to find it. Do you want some coffee?”

He heard Lincoln sigh. “Sure, I ate so many carbs I need to hibernate for the rest of the weekend.”

Michael flinched, wandering back into the living room. “About the weekend,” He sat carefully in the leather armchair across from Lincoln. “My mother has requested that you come to dinner this Sunday and she won’t take no for an answer.”

Lincoln was still for a moment then shrugged. “Why would I say no? I have to meet them eventually right? Unless, you don’t want them involved in the House race.”

Michael took a breath of relief. “I certainly don’t know how involved I want them. And before you wonder why, you haven’t met my mother yet. You’ll understand on Sunday.”

“Can’t be that bad,” Lincoln said.

The coffeemaker started beeping and Michael stood. “Again, you haven’t met her yet.”

As he poured, Michael grinned to himself wondering why he freaked out in the first place. Lincoln didn’t bat an eyelash while Michael had let the moment eat away his stomach lining.

“Do you have any cookies?” Michael spilled the cream a bit when Lincoln joined him suddenly in the kitchen.

“How are you still hungry?” Michael asked, moving quickly over to the cupboard where he stashed his treats. He pulled down a package of cookies and held them out for Lincoln to take. “Help yourself, if I eat anything else I’ll blow.”

Lincoln took the package, shaking his head. “I can dunk them in the coffee, and then go find a cave.”

Michael handed over a mug while he drank from his own. “Sounds like a good end to a good week.”

“Hear, hear,” Lincoln held up his cup.

They ate and drank in silence, leaning against the dark kitchen counters until Michael was done with his coffee. He was comfortable with the full meal and hot liquid in his stomach, making him sleepy just as a good meal is intended. Lincoln was still dunking and eating soaked pieces of cookie and Michael tried not to watch as he licked the crumbs from his lips.

“I think the game’s still on,” Michael said, feeling surprisingly awkward. “Thanks for…um, you know.” He started to leave the kitchen when Lincoln’s thick hand wrapped around his wrist and gently tugged so that Michael would face him.

Lincoln grinned at Michael’s confusion. “What am I supposed to know?” His voice was low and deep, sending a shiver down Michael’s spine.

“I forgot that we were supposed to talk about this,” Michael muttered. He stepped close, putting a hand on Lincoln’s chest to soften his words. “This, us, we’re a bad idea right now. You’re an amazing manager and I have you to thank for every good thing that’s happened so far. You and Sara both have been amazing.

“But we’ve just started and if I’m exhausted after only a month, I can’t imagine how overwhelmed we’re going to be in 18 months. A relationship like ours will only make things worse.”

He dared to meet Lincoln’s eyes once he finished and frowned to see the older man smiling.

“You’re completely right, Mike.” Lincoln said, holding on to the hand on his chest. To Michael he looked almost manic. “Getting this started is probably the worse election strategy in history. I’ve never wanted to do something like this before but…”

“But,” Michael encouraged when Lincoln trailed off. Lincoln was lightly stroking his fingers, making it hard from Michael to concentrate on his purpose.

“Doesn’t this feel right, Michael? Like if you stripped the election away, we’d still end up right here somehow?”

“Linc it doesn’t matter how we feel.” It hurt Michael to say. “If this had been a different time, I don’t know, we could have done whatever we wanted. What’s most important now is the election, not our affections and I shouldn’t have to remind you of that.”

Lincoln gave a nod then spoke as if Michael had said nothing. “I don’t make friends, Mike, ever. Most times I’m brash and detached with people. During elections, I give orders and make plans that will do the job without trying to make friends with the candidate. I was so candid about my background and sexuality at our first lunch because I was trying to make you uneasy. I was hoping that I’d find some flaw so that I could walk away knowing that you were just a pretty face.”

Michael cut off his confession angrily. “I don’t know if I can lie to everyone I know. I don’t think I want to. What if I win and try for the Senate later? How long are you willing to be my secret lover?”

“As long as it takes, that’s what I’m trying to say.” Lincoln clasped his hand.

Michael shook his head. “You don’t mean that and you’re a good friend, Linc. I don’t want to lose you over something that we can prevent.”

“I don’t think you really want to stop this,” Lincoln insisted. “You can argue this all you want but you still haven’t let go of my hand.” He held tighter to the rebellious limb.

Michael had nothing to say at that. Even if he wanted to pull his hand away, Lincoln’s wide paw was clamped like a vice around his fingers. “This is crazy.” Michael finally croaked.

“Alright,” Lincoln suddenly let go of his hand and Michael felt like he might fall over. “You really don’t want this then just kiss me once and tell me to leave.”

Michael thought he might have misheard. “What?”

“Kiss me just once then tell me to leave and we won’t ever talk about this again.”

“That’s,” Michael floundered, wondering when Lincoln had lost his mind. “That’s juvenile.”

Lincoln responded by leaning back on the counter and crossing his arms. It was a dare, official when Lincoln’s dark eyebrow arched. Michael wasn’t sure if he was charmed or annoyed.

“I’m not going to do it,” Michael turned to leave then turned back a few feet away. “You’re a teenager.”

Lincoln tilted his head. “That would make me a juvenile.” His tiny smile exasperated Michael to the point where he really wanted to kiss him, just to see what Lincoln would do.

Lincoln seemed to read his mind, “You want to, I can tell. Just come here.”

“This is unreal,” Michael exclaimed, taking a step closer. “Were you a drug dealer in another life?”

“Am I that irresistible, Michael?” Lincoln’s smile went crooked and Michael’s blood boiled.

“Just shut up.” Lincoln’s cookie scented breath was right in his face. Michael didn’t know how he’d gotten so close because Lincoln was still standing up against the counter.

Lincoln’s eyes were dark, wanting, and his voice was barely a whisper. “You’re so hot when you’re angry.”

Michael leaned in the slightest bit, ignoring how he’d be cursing himself stupid later, and pressed a chaste kiss to Lincoln’s lips. It was barely there and dry, almost emotionless if his heart hadn’t been trying to pound out of his chest.

When he blinked his eyes open, Lincoln flung a heavy arm around his waist and pulled him into a kiss that Michael could feel travel down his body by way of his mouth.

Lincoln’s hot tongue licked the seam of his lips, asking for entry that Michael was powerless to refuse. He moaned embarrassingly loud as Lincoln flicked against the roof of his mouth, over his teeth, and rubbed against his tongue, trying to get him to respond. Lincoln’s hands were like hot brands on his back, burning through his shirt.

Lack of air forced Michael to pull away panting. His lips were tingling and he was painfully hard in his slacks. Lincoln looked insufferably proud of himself.

“You haven’t told me to leave.”

Michael licked his lips, tasting cookies and coffee. “Let me catch my breath.”

Lincoln gave him a playful smile and said, “No, I don’t think so,” before he kissed Michael again. He ruthlessly hunted down the remaining thoughts in Michael's head and slaughtered them with the slick movement of his lips and tongue.

Michael wholly gave up and decided to try to hang on.

His parents probably wanted to kill him, Thanksgiving was right around the corner, his campaign was up and running, and he was possibly making the biggest mistake of his life by starting a relationship with his manager but Michael could only think about how good Lincoln smelled and where he wanted the man’s hands to go next.

Lincoln brought their bodies flush and the one thought that survived said that no matter what happened, Michael was irrevocably screwed.


	3. Chapter 3

_December_

Lincoln watched the little stage from his seat in the dark studio. On it, Michael was seated on one side of the commentator and Veronica Donovan on the other. She was a pale beauty, calm and collected in a tailored blue skirt and white shirt with pearls around her neck. Michael on the other hand, while polished to perfection in a pinstriped suit, looked a little annoyed. Veronica’s answers to the commentator’s questions were a blatant attempt to monopolize time. With every question her responses lengthened by minutes and the last one, about raising the minimum wage, prompted the commentator to cut her off.

The debate was organized for the local Democratic delegates and would be aired on public access television several times during the week. Despite shooting it very early in the campaign, they all knew that it would be shown again when it came time for precinct committee members of the city to select the Democratic nominee for the General Election. It was usually understood that the nominee’s opponents would step aside in order to solidify party support but a year and a half away from the elections, Lincoln could tell that Veronica wouldn’t back down even if Michael was deemed the favorite at the city-wide caucus.

There was no Christmas cheer in the small studio. Michael was starting to sweat from the lights and occasionally his eyes would go off stage to look at his mother, Karen, who’d been discreetly touching her watch with a scowl for the past few minutes. Apparently, the debate wasn’t moving fast enough for her. Lincoln shook his head, thinking that nothing could be worse than the added pressure of the Scofield matriarch.

Michael had been right in November when he said that Lincoln wouldn’t understand his reluctance for her to support him in the election. After meeting the woman a few days before Thanksgiving, Lincoln left the Scofield Mansion surprised that Karen had even let Michael leave the crib.  
__

Two Weeks Prior

Lincoln had seen mansions before but nothing compared to the enormity of the Scofield-Winslow Mansion. 28 acres of land surrounded the multi-story stone building just outside of Zionsville. Snow blew in between the field separating the traditional red barn from the castle-like homestead and as Lincoln parked his car in the circular drive he spotted a few smaller cabins further down the land, probably for hired farm hands.

The house was nothing like the other homes he’d passed on the way. Most kept to the colonial Williamsburg copies or shining new designs that made up the county but it was obvious that the builder of the mansion, Michael’s deceased grandfather, wanted to stand apart from his compatriots.

A dark slatted roof, hung over the edges of the brick walls like protective caping, making the battlements on each side of the house and the largest, a steeple thick and round directly front and center, all the more imposing. The door and window seals were all painted white as if after the house was built the owner realized that he wanted people to visit and the lights inside were brightly lit, the only inviting elements. Lincoln couldn’t imagine Michael, whose condo was colored with warm amber, dark wood, and welcoming plush furniture, living for any amount of time in the cold environment.

A butler answered the door, actually dressed in a pressed black suit and tie, and Lincoln started to doubt if agreeing to dinner so easily had been a good idea. Then, as he entered the foyer and reluctantly gave his coat to the butler, he saw Michael. Lincoln grasped to define how different Michael looked.

The younger man was dressed in khakis and a polo shirt, apparently the uniform of the rich, but it wasn’t Michael’s clothes that caused Lincoln to pause. Michael’s tall lanky form seemed smaller somehow. His shoulders were hunched, not the broad strength he’d felt under his hands when they kissed on Friday night. No matter how mild his personality, Michael was not a small man but his body, even his striking green eyes, telegraphed how diminutive Michael felt that moment and Lincoln immediately wanted to take him away.

Michael approached him with a relieved smile, “Glad you made it. Did you have any trouble finding the house?”

“No,” Lincoln shook Michael’s hand and held it for a few second long than necessary just for comfort. “I had no idea this place was so big.”

Michael nodded demurely. “Grandpa always did like to make his statements. He built it for my parents when they married, probably as a warning to my father that he was always watching. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

Michael gave a small smile to the butler and led Lincoln through the vestibule with its hanging chandelier into the dimmer opulence of the living room. Only a few lamps were lit to illuminate the white room and a wall of windows peered onto the snow covered lawn behind the house where the winter sun barely pierced the clouds.

The first person Lincoln noticed was Karen Scofield-Winslow sitting primly in a straight backed chair. Thin and small, she was dressed for Sunday dinner in a pink cashmere sweater and grey pants. Her russet skin was unlined, she didn’t look close to her fifty-four years, and her long black hair was braided neatly down her back. Her dark intelligent eyes seemed to sum him up in a glance and when she blinked Lincoln could have sworn that she’d already considered him useless.

Lincoln hadn’t seen a look like that since he was a teenager.

“Michael, please introduce us to your friend.” Her voice was low but each word fell like a stone. Lincoln got the feeling that Karen usually didn’t ask questions but demanded answers.

“Mother, Father, this is Lincoln Burrows, my campaign manager and a former Major of the Marines. Lincoln, this is my mother, Karen Scofield-Winslow, and my father, Aldo.”

Lincoln only noticed Michael’s father after the man stood. He’d been sitting in the corner of a couch, halfway across the room, but been so silent compared to the body language of his thunderous wife that Lincoln’s trained eyes had completely missed him. He thought that Aldo definitely had some skill. From first sight it was obvious that while Michael inherited Karen’s nose and lush mouth he resembled his father much more.

Aldo looked like a stereotypical professor with a thick sweater, slacks, and his thick rimmed glasses in his hand, but there was something in his eyes that Lincoln could immediately recognize. Aldo, like him, had been around. When the salt-and-pepper haired man held out his hand and grinned, Lincoln thought of the first cop who’d arrested him at 15. A guy who was an empathetic protector but could also read him like a book.

His pale hand was thickly calloused and Lincoln knew he respected the man before Aldo even opened his mouth.

“Nice to meet you sir,” Lincoln turned to nod at Karen who hadn’t moved from her seat. “Mam. It’s my honor to work on your son’s campaign. His vision is refreshing.”

“Yes, it’s unfortunate that we’ve only just gotten the chance to meet.” Aldo offered him a chair on other side of the room, unsurprisingly opposite to Karen who’d watched them all migrate back with a blank face. Michael settled in a chair closer to his father and Lincoln, facing his mother as well. Lincoln felt like she was going to start an interview.

“I can say very little of Michael’s vision,” Karen brought the focus back to her. “My son’s been hiding ever since he made the rash decision to change parties.”

Michael sighed as if he’d expected her derision. “I’ve told you before, I wasn’t hiding, and I needed to get my campaign off the ground. That takes time and dedication.”

Karen gave Michael a sharp look. “Don’t talk to me as if I’ve never taken part in a campaign, Michael. Who do you think helped your uncle the first time he was elected? Or the second for that matter.” She turned back to Lincoln, who tried not to flinch at the eye contact.

“So, Mr. Burrows, other than shooting what other qualifications do you have to justify running an entire campaign?”

“Karen,” Aldo interjected with a strained smile. “Give the man a break. He’s obviously qualified or Michael wouldn’t have hired him. I’m sorry Lincoln, but you’re getting the tail end of Karen and Michael’s earlier argument.”

“Pleading his case was more like it,” Karen piped in, staring at her only child.

Michael looked like a sulking teenager, sunk down in his seat with his arms hanging from the rests and a leg crossed over his knee. “You’re determined to make it look like I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You don’t Michael. I don’t know how you expect to win looking like a vacillator. Just switching sides like that, it’s not right. A few family friends were very offended.” Karen fixed a stray hair, visibly upset.

Michael seemed to barely keep a grin off his face as he glanced at Lincoln. “Pity that.”

Lincoln failed to do the same and had to clear his throat.

“Mam, in Michael’s defense, there really hasn’t been any backlash from his changing affiliation. He wasn’t a political mover before the campaign and he’d announced the change within the first week he started to run. Latest polls show that most of the public didn’t even realize that Michael used to be Republican. Also, and I discerned this from speaking with Mike, he was a very liberal Republican to start with. If anything he’s moved to the more favored middle.”

After he’d finished the room was silent for so long that he wondered if he’d crossed the line. Lincoln didn’t know what it was about the Scofield’s that inspired declarative statements but his outbursts were starting to annoy him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Michael cover his mouth and wished he could kick him without setting off alarm bells.

“The favored middle, huh,” Aldo repeated with an arched eyebrow. “See, Karen, the man seems to know what he’s talking about.” Lincoln let out a silent breath when Aldo moved on. “How many campaigns have you run, by the way?”

“Four so far, sir. The longest one was about two years long for Senator Kinsey.”

“Which he won,” Aldo added with a nod. “Have you won every campaign you’ve run?”

Lincoln sat up straighter. “Yes, sir.”

“Do stop calling him sir,” Karen muttered. “His head doesn’t need to get any bigger, Aldo is enough. How long have you been in politics?” Her voice wasn’t as cutting and Lincoln took that as a sign that she was interested.

“Seven years. Just after I left the military.”

Michael spoke up. “He took some time off recently to take care of his mother.”

“Oh, was she sick?” Karen’s hard demeanor softened a bit and Lincoln threw Michael a grateful gaze.

“She suffered a mild heart attack and was put on bed rest.”

Karen shook her head in sympathy. “How unfortunate. Your father wasn’t there to help?”

Lincoln hadn’t spoken of his father for years and simply said, “No, he hasn’t been in the picture for a long time.”

Karen hummed lowly in response and Aldo immediately picked up the slack.

“What happened to our manners? Lincoln would you like anything to drink before dinner?” He made a hand signal and the butler emerged from seemingly nowhere. “It will probably be another half an hour or so in the oven.”

Before Lincoln could decline, Karen cut in again. “He just got here, Aldo, I’m sure he’s fine. And he hasn’t told us of his strategy for the campaign yet.”

Michael sat up, frowning. “Is this an interrogation? The man can’t even have a drink until he’s answered your questions?”

“Don’t be dramatic, Michael.” Karen addressed the butler over her shoulder. “George, bring us a pitcher of water please.” When she turned back to her son, she lifted a sculpted eyebrow as if to say ‘Are you happy’. Karen fixed her penetrating gaze back on Lincoln. “Now, I’m sure you have a plan for Michael’s race issue and what would happen if his hospital records were leaked to the press?”

There was a beat of silent shock then Aldo reacted, his words like a lash. “Karen, do you have to be so vicious?”

Lincoln, confused, looked over at Michael who’d paled considerably. His earlier impression of Michael, as shrunken, became more obvious when the younger man wrapped his arms around his torso; Lincoln wanted to comfort and question him at the same time.

Michael looked momentarily relieved when George brought a platter with a glass pitcher of water and four glasses.

Karen sighed and leaned towards Michael, her first kind movement to her son. “I’m not trying to be vicious but even if Lincoln is the only person you talk to about these issues, they are valid and could be brought up in the race. Lincoln,” She reverted her attention back to him and Lincoln nodded.

“It may not be apparent by looking at Michael, but his grandmother, my mother, was part Native American, and his grandfather was Creole. Now, Aldo’s family is English back to the Pilgrims and that’s what usually gets attention but I remember the scrutiny the Winslow’s family name has received in the past, especially when I married Aldo, and as much as I don’t want my son exposed to that, his running will surely bring his heritage to the forefront.”

“Uncle Brian had no trouble running for judge,” Michael mentioned. His face was stony, like Lincoln had never seen and he wondered if they’d argued about this before. Lincoln wondered if Karen had grown accustomed to taking her own insecurities out on her son. Aldo had been quiet since his outburst but his eyes, glued to his wife, spoke of his disappointment.

Karen pursed her lips. “No, Brian ran over the competition and used our name to his advantage. I’m assuming your rebellion thus far has shown that you want to run on your own merit?” Michael said nothing and she continued on. “Really, I think now that you’re a Democrat, race will be an advantage, especially amongst the precinct members. Don’t you agree Lincoln?”

Lincoln still wasn’t sure where she was going with her speculations, other than to annoy Michael. He watched Michael’s reaction as he spoke.

“To be perfectly honest mam, I’ve lived in Indiana all my life and I’ve always heard of the Winslow name associated with law and money, not race. I never even knew of your heritage until today. I, personally, don’t believe that race should even be a question in regards to politics.”

“I’m sorry to have to say it, but race is never a non-issue in a campaign,” Karen declared. “Now, for the other issue-,”

Michael interrupted her for the first time. “I’ll tell him mother, I think you’ve made him uncomfortable enough.”

Lincoln barely stopped himself from touching Michael’s arm. “I’m not uncomfortable, Mike. I still don’t think that race is an issue but your mom was right that we should have talked about it. You can trust to tell me anything.”

Michael’s eyes were grateful and he swallowed visibly. “When I was in high school, I had a…breakdown-,”

“An episode,” Karen corrected.

“You wanted to air this, so let him talk Karen,” Aldo murmured. Lincoln silently agreed.

Michael continued softly, “I was diagnosed with Low Latent Inhibition, LLI. It means that sometimes the information that most people are exposed to and ignore on a daily basis, like the humming of electronics or the small details of a room would overwhelm me to the point where I was incapacitated.

“When I was young, it was thought that LLI was some form of schizophrenia, where those who were medicated and had high intelligence could learn to suppress and even use it to their creative advantage, while others would be unable to function. Now, with more research, it’s thought that LLI is more like a unique personality trait and I haven’t needed medication since I took the bar.”

Michael hadn’t once looked at Lincoln during his admission and Lincoln’s hands ached with the need to touch him.

He spoke instead. “Does anyone else beyond the family and me know about this?”

“I had a relapse from stress my first year of law school.” Michael paused and after a second Lincoln filled in the blanks.

“Where you went to school with Veronica.”

Michael met his gaze in confirmation then looked away.

“I don’t think that Veronica would go through the trouble of getting a doctor and going through your records,” Aldo said. “That’s pretty low for her.”

Karen sniffed. “The point is that she could do it and that’s why I brought it up. Lincoln, what do you think?”

Lincoln dragged himself away from Michael’s sullen expression. “I, um, I think that Veronica could use any weakness she can find to unhinge our campaign. We’ve already seen how she’s used her past experience with Michael to catch him off guard at the forum. But, at the same time, I agree with your father, Mike, I don’t think she’s likely to go so far as to try to access your records through a third party. And if she does, you could arrange to be notified.”

Karen nodded. “Very well. We should watch that woman carefully anyway. Even when she was a girl, I didn’t trust her.”

“And you didn’t even go to school with her,” Aldo added, trying to lighten the conversation with a smile. “Crisis averted for the moment, yeah Michael?” He looked around Lincoln to his son, who was still frowning.

Lincoln couldn’t deny himself any longer and put his hand on Michael’s shoulder. Michael looked weary, drained pale from the heavy conversation, and Lincoln could completely understand. He wished he could forget about the dinner he barely smelled from the kitchen; hop in the car with Michael and go back to the younger man’s apartment to crash on his couch…or, better yet, somewhere softer.

They hadn’t done more than kiss on Friday night. Both of them were genuinely exhausted and after the slow build up, the feeling of finally being able to tell Michael how he’d felt, of finally being able to touch and kiss him, Lincoln was left heavy with fatigue.

He’d been hard, his body aching for more and he’d known that Michael felt the same, but Lincoln had forced himself to leave the best for last. They shared a few bone burning kisses, touched warm skin through stiff clothes, and parted at Michael’s door before Lincoln could talk himself into never leaving.

“Well,” Aldo announced, standing up, “I don’t know about you guys but I’m starving. I’ll go check on dinner. Michael, why don’t you show Lincoln around? Your mom and I will send George to come and get you when we’re ready to eat.”

Michael cracked a small grateful smile at his father. Lincoln could almost feel Michael trying to put himself back together and thought fast. “Can you show me that beautiful barn out there?”

The younger man finally met his eyes curiously. “Sure. You can meet the horses.” The both of them stood and Michael led the way to where the butler had put their coats.

“Don’t wander too far, it’s getting cold,” Karen said behind them.

“Let them get some air, Karen.” They heard Aldo respond. “I think you’ve driven us all to the brink today.”

Lincoln put on his coat as Michael closed the front door on Karen’s retort. The air was cold, whipping over their cheeks like a sobering slap, and both men buttoned quickly, walking around the front of the house to the barn across the clearing. The thin layer of snow and ice crunched under their dress shoes, the only sound beyond the howling wind.

Michael was silent, brooding, and his mood, matched with the overcast clouds, bothered Lincoln more than if Michael had decided to rant and rave. He nudged the younger man gently with his shoulder, wishing he could do more.

“There’s nothing wrong with anything I heard in there, you know that right?”

Michael glanced over at him. “That’s not it. I mean, school is tough and kids are cruel - I came to terms with who I was a long time ago. My mother’s never understood that because her childhood was pretty rough. But the LLI… I just wish that I’d been able to tell you that in my own time.”

The barn loomed ahead and they quickened their steps as the wind sunk its teeth deeper into their ears and nose. Lincoln could already hear the horses shuffling before Michael opened the door and ushered him inside its warmer depths.

Michael switched on the barn lights, illuminating rows of stables. Most of them were empty and only a few horses, closest to the door, lifted their heads from their slumber to see who they were.

Lincoln turned to speak but was ambushed by Michael plowing into him and pushing him back against an empty stable door. He was taken by surprise for only a second, then felt Michael’s hard body as it pressed close, the look in the younger man’s eyes warming him from the inside, and was almost instantly hard.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you since I saw you in the hallway.” Michael’s breath was warm on his lips and Lincoln choked on a groan.

Lincoln licked his lips. “Then don’t hesitate.”

Watching Michael lean in slowly was agony until their mouths finally fused.

Lincoln let out that groan as Michael’s slightly cold lips warmed up his own then plunged deeper, his tongue painting a red hot path into him. He pulled Michael in tighter, wanting to be enveloped in the wool of his coat and the spicy scent of his light cologne. It almost embarrassed him, how much he wanted Michael, but the more Lincoln touched him the worse his need became.

Lincoln sucked on Michael’s tongue to hear him moan then pulled back with a little bite to his lips. The cool air immediately rushed in but Lincoln kept Michael close with one hand while the other snuck between them, desperately trying to get into Michael’s coat and to the hardness he could feel in Michael’s pants.

He glanced up briefly, catching Michael’s dark eyes as he unbuckled his belt and unzipped him. Michael kissed him roughly, giving Lincoln permission to reach into his boxers and draw his hardness into the air.

Michael’s body jerked from both the cold and Lincoln’s tight grip. His cock was heavy in Lincoln’s hand and Lincoln had to look down, watch Michael’s sensitive skin grow red and swell in his fist as he pumped. Michael was clinging to him and panting puffs of condensation, his arms wrapped around Lincoln’s neck to keep upright.

Lincoln adjusted his grip slightly to catalogue Michael’s reactions and wished they had more time, that he could spread Michael out naked and just watch him move and breathe and lose control. His own cock was aching but he ignored it for the moment, needing to see Michael come.

He heard Michael’s breath hitch and felt his cock grow slightly harder right before Michael’s entire body shuddered and he shoved forward to kiss Lincoln as he came over his hand.

Lincoln barely kept himself from coming at the feeling of Michael shaking in his arms. Michael’s blunt nails dug into the nape of his neck and the sharp pain let him take a calming breath, give it back to Michael as they traded wet kisses.

Michael was the first to pull away with a soft moan when he’d grown too sensitive for Lincoln to hold. Lincoln carefully put him back together, dressing him as Michael tried to catch his breath, and he floundered for a moment with his wet hand until Michael reached into his coat pocket and gave him a monogrammed handkerchief.

Lincoln shivered as he wiped his hand on the joined ‘M.D.S.’ logo, his body’s need and the cold intruding once more. As he pocketed the cloth Michael kissed him hard, taking the breath from his lungs and setting him alight.

He was more than ready to come; considered it fair to just push Michael down onto the dirty barn floor and rut against him until his brain exploded. But right as Lincoln growled at the thought, there was a loud knocking at the barn door.

Michael retreated so quickly that he knocked a feed pail from the wall and they both flinched as it crashed loudly.

Michael cleared his throat, his voice shaking the slightest bit. “Yeah, George?”

The voice outside was impassive. “Dinner is ready, sirs.”

Lincoln tried to slow his breath, regain his composure enough to face the Scofield’s across the dinner table, as if it wouldn’t be awkward enough without the added complication of his erection burning against his thigh.

“Right,” Michael answered the butler. “We’ll be right there.”

When there was no other response, Michael hesitantly came back to Lincoln. His eyes dipped to Lincoln’s coat covered crotch then back up with remorse.

“Don’t worry about it,” Lincoln sighed, yanking on the front of Michael’s coat to pull him into brief kiss.

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” Michael’s green eyes were dancing when they parted and Lincoln bit off a moan.

When they arrived back to the house, they both excused themselves to wash up before they ate and if Michael’s parents noticed that Lincoln took significantly longer to show at the dinner table neither of them said anything.  
__

_December_

The debate was long finished by the time Lincoln slid into bed.

Michael had been able to get in a few points, interrupting Veronica smoothly and keeping his voice low when the woman seemed ready to argue into the night. Her attitude was the same as accounts reported it had been when she was on the city council, brash and demanding, a trait which made her a good defense attorney but impossible to communicate with. They only had an advantage because of how she’d treated council members in the past and because Michael had very little experience beyond social politicking.

As the commentator wrapped up, Lincoln saw Karen leave the studio. He still couldn’t figure her out. One moment she was bordering on uncaring and the next she seemed overprotective to a fault. Michael hadn’t gone on to explain about Karen’s “rough” childhood, but Lincoln decided to look up the Winslow history.

Michael’s grandmother had been the matriarch of the family until her death; her husband hadn’t lived long after Karen was married to Aldo. There was little talk about the marriage and what Lincoln could find were unprofessional editorials laced with racial slurs intending to smear the Winslow name. One had implied that the Winslow’s were one of the most controversial (and to the writer, reviled) families of power in Indiana because of the ‘tendency’ for latter generations of Winslow women to marry outside of their race.

The article was written only thirty years ago and Lincoln felt ill for even giving the writer the pleasure of knowing that someone had read it.

There was some press work after the debate. Sara handled the majority of it at Michael’s side while Lincoln spoke to the studio about air dates. The Donovan entourage passed by him as they left and Veronica smirked, looking him up and down, before she dismissed him with a flick of her hair.

Lincoln chuckled to himself. In another life perhaps, Veronica would have been right up his alley.

Sara and Michael came to the studio door where Lincoln was waiting.

“Merry Christmas, guys,” Sara said, wrapping her scarf around her neck. “See you at The Canterbury for New Years set up.”

Both men wished her a good Christmas vacation and escorted her to her car in the dark parking lot. While Sara wouldn’t be seen for two weeks, Lincoln planned to leave the city for home in Carrol County a few days before Christmas. He and Michael would have a week to themselves.

Lincoln stretched his tired muscles across the sheets, lifting his head from the pillow when Michael’s weight dipped the bed. They’d gone back to Lincoln’s apartment for a change and while the place wasn’t nearly as fancy and comfortable as Michael’s it was furnished with the basics. At the moment, a big bed was all he needed.

Michael leaned in to kiss his forehead. “You get a wrinkle right here when you’re thinking really hard.”

Lincoln smirked and ran his hand over Michael’s hair. “We can’t all be as pretty as you.”

“Watch it.” Michael shoved his hand away with a grin.

“Or what?” Lincoln reached for Michael’s arm and yanked him across his chest. Michael’s bare torso was smooth, felt like silk on Lincoln’s skin.

The waiting had been worth it, Lincoln thought. Tired kissing and the occasional hand job had been nice for the past few weeks, but seeing Michael clothed only in his boxer-briefs with his perfect skin and long limbs that went on forever, turned Lincoln on more than he could ever remember.

Michael righted himself, kneeling at Lincoln’s side. “Or I’ll fire you.”

Lincoln ran his hand down the younger man’s toned chest. “I better be careful then, now that I’m sleeping with the boss. You’re probably going to use me up and fire me anyway.”

Michael’s long fingers dragged his hand back up, over his nipples, neck, and up to cup his cheek. Lincoln ran his thumb over Michael’s wide mouth and shuddered when Michael licked it. “Are you feeling used?”

“Not yet,” Lincoln murmured. Michael straddled his hips boldly and kissed him until Lincoln was panting for breath. Michael’s smile was as sweet as his mouth.

“I should get on that. I’ll make sure to fire you after New Year’s.”


	4. Chapter 4

_New Year’s Eve_

Michael wasn’t a heavy drinker. In most circles, he admitted, he wouldn’t even be considered a light drinker. But ever since Michael announced that he was running for office, he hadn’t allowed even a beer. The last thing he needed was the image of him drinking to be plastered all over the local papers.

However it was his New Year’s Party and as much as he could resist temptation, Sara encouraged him to indulge in a few flutes of champagne. Very good, very expensive champagne that had an alcohol content much higher than that of average beer.

So, Michael was buzzed but coherent enough to follow one of his contributor’s, his former boss Mr. Corbett, views on the latest Cook Political Report. Even if Michael hadn’t said a word to contribute to the conversation yet.

It was ten minutes until midnight and the affluent members of Indianapolis’ high society were gathering with wine glasses and party hats in The Canterbury’s Lockerbie Room. They’d already eaten in the restaurant, reserved for their party alone, and even Karen mentioned how well the party was put together.

Sara was glowing with all of the praise she’d been given so far. She was also, in Michael’s humble opinion, the most beautiful woman in the room. In a glittering black sheath dress and demure diamond accents around her neck and ears, she turned heads as she worked the crowd. Michael could hardly believe that she was the same woman who was drowning in sweats and hurrying the catering staff along that morning. Then again, all throughout their friendship he’d known that if he was ever going to be attracted to a woman, it would have been his best friend.

It was Lincoln who kept his eye all night. He was aware of his position in any room they’d moved into and Lincoln might have been the reason why Michael hadn’t been paying closer to attention to his alcohol consumption.

Michael had seen Lincoln in (and out) of suits almost everyday but he’d never seen the older man in a tux. Lincoln wore it as if he were in a comfortable bathing suit and was selling Michael’s campaign like lemonade. They’d spoken about whether they should be largely together or apart during the party and although Michael would have loved to have Lincoln at his side, they thought it best to separate for the sake of propriety. Especially with Michael’s parents wandering around.

Time was ticking down and Michael tried hard not to sigh into his wine glass. He had no doubt that when the clock hit midnight he would do what he always did. Find Sara or his mother and kiss them politely on the cheek, maybe shuffle with them on the dance floor for a song. But for once, Michael had someone that he wanted to kiss and welcome the New Year with and his chest ached at the idea of not kissing Lincoln.

As if the man knew that Michael was thinking about him, Lincoln appeared at his side and smiled at his companion.

“Mr. Corbett, so glad you could make it. Have you had a good time so far?”

Mr. Corbett took a breath from his monologue. “Very well so far, Lincoln. I was just telling Michael what a find he made in hiring you. I wish you had a law license.”

Michael didn't remember Mr. Corbett saying anything like that and he would have been certain to catch on to Lincoln’s name. He played along anyway, chuckling along with Lincoln.

“I’ll leave that to Michael, sir. You mind if I steal him for a bit?”

Michael’s heart thudded when his old boss laughed and excused them. “I’ve gotta go pry the wife away from the open bar as it is.”

“You do that, sir,” Lincoln encouraged, touching Michael’s elbow.

Michael smiled at Mr. Corbett. “Happy New Year, sir. Thank you for coming.”

“You have my support, Michael. Go make us proud.”

Lincoln grinned for the both of them, guiding Michael away from the room and into the mainly empty lobby. When they went up the winding steps to the second floor, down the hall, and around a corner into another empty conference room, Michael frowned.

“Is there something wrong?”

“No,” Lincoln smiled and ran his hands over Michael’s arms. “It’s a few minutes until midnight and I wanted to…well, you know.”

Inside, Michael was laughing in delight and he said, “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“I’m sure it isn’t but I don’t want to talk about this the way we do about everything else.”

Michael blinked. “Do we talk about everything?”

Lincoln sighed. “Michael, we have to plan out everything. We talk about when we can kiss, if I should even kiss you.”

“I’m sorry,” Michael hadn’t realized that lately their relationship had gotten to that point. It was a sobering thought that he was acting the same way he did previously in his few horribly failed relationships.

It was the alcohol and alarm that had him blurting, “I think that I’ve wanted you to kiss me so much that I haven’t let you do it at all. Does that make sense?”

“In a weird way, yeah it kind of does,” Lincoln said slowly, giving him a slight smile.

The countdown drifted up through the floor from downstairs and Michael grinned as he took the initiative, cupping Lincoln’s face in his hands.

He could feel Lincoln’s strong heartbeat against his chest and he didn’t want to wait for the New Year’s scream. They kissed three seconds early.

By the time the yelling died down, the band playing “Auld Lang Syne”, Lincoln was rocking them side to side, turning them in a circle.

Surprised, Michael pointed out the obvious. “We’re dancing.”

Lincoln kissed his neck. “Nice revelation, genius boy.”

“At least I can dance,” Michael teased. Lincoln smacked him lightly on his rear and he jerked.

“Shut up and let me kiss you.”

Michael chuckled. “You step on my foot and I'll fir-,”

Lincoln’s lips shut him up.

It was the best night of Michael’s life.  
__

_February_

“I don’t think you’ve ever visited me here.” Aldo Scofield smiled up at his son from the floor level of his lecture hall at DePauw.

His father just finished a class on state’s rights when Michael slipped into one of the seats in the back. He’d never seen his father teach professionally and it gave him a little thrill to see. The students seemed engaged despite the large numbers in the class and Aldo had to cut off the beginning of a debate so he could remind them of homework assignments.

Michael got a few looks from students as they filed out, probably because of the new face rather than recognition, although he’d tried to look the part in a baseball cap and jeans. His father only noticed him once everyone else had left.

“Mom said you called, wanted to talk to me about something important.” Michael rose and took the steps two at a time down to Aldo’s desk.

“You don’t come running when your mother has something important to tell you.”

Michael shrugged, “Would you believe me if I said that it was because she hadn’t formerly been in the FBI?”

“Only if I thought you had something to hide,” Aldo said with a strained smile. “Which is why I wanted to talk with you.”

Michael perched on the edge of his desk. “If this about the LLI thing-,”

“It isn’t,” Aldo interrupted. “It’s about what happened before we had dinner with Lincoln and your disappearance at New Years. You’ve changed, Michael, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed it yet.”

Michael nodded, thinking that he understood. Lincoln had changed him. He couldn’t remember when he’d laughed so much. Being around Lincoln made him feel bolder than he’d ever been as a lawyer; made him happy and kept him on his toes. Politically, Lincoln challenged him to fuse his old ideas with his new aspirations.

Once, Lincoln asked him, “What would you know about being homeless, Michael? Or having no money or job? Have you ever talked to someone who couldn’t pay their court costs or bail?”

Lincoln’s questions resulted in Michael to speaking to more people in the grocery store and the older neighbors at his church. He even decided to visit his father on campus rather than driving over to the mansion. They needed the youth vote and planned to hit colleges hard in the fall. He hadn't quite gotten to speaking to the homeless on the streets, but he figured one baby step at a time.

Michael addressed his father. “I realize that I’ve been confrontational and I’m sorry for that.” He and his mother argued a lot lately and he knew that his father had become the mediator.

Aldo sighed and sat down heavily in his rolling chair. “It’s not about that either Michael, but thank you for the apology. Between you and me, I’ve enjoyed watching you finally stand up to your mother.”

Michael went silent, completely confused. Aldo appeared to have trouble saying what he meant, which was a lifetime first for Michael.

Finally, Aldo exhaled noisily and said, “Look, Michael, that first night, I went out to check on Duke and saw you two in the barn.”

Michael knew that he hadn’t misheard and his knees wobbled dangerously. Trying to keep down his lunch, he stumbled over to the closest desk and sat down carefully.

“First of all,” Aldo explained, coming over to Michael. “I’ve had some time to process this so you shouldn’t expect the Inquisition here. I’m not going to yell at you and I’m going to try not to tell you how to live your life, you’re a grown man.”

Michael noticed that his hands were shaking and he placed them flat on the desk. His breath was coming quickly and he wondered if he was hyperventilating.

But his overwhelming thought was that he wished Lincoln was there. Michael hadn’t imagined a coming out scenario to his parents but his father catching him in the act was certainly on the ‘worst-case’ list.

Aldo continued as Michael silently combusted.

“Secondly, after thinking about it, I’m not bothered that you’re gay. I converted to Catholicism for your mother, I’ve told you that before, and I never had strong feelings for or against homosexuality. Although, I believe that you should have told me so I wouldn’t have had to find out like that. If there is anything I’m very angry with you over, it’s that you couldn’t trust me.”

Michael nodded slowly, his vision going fuzzy at the edges. Aldo sat in the seat next to him but Michael couldn’t lift his head. He still couldn’t find the breath to speak.

“You still with me?” Aldo asked patting Michael’s back. Again, he nodded.

“Alright, thirdly, I don’t know how long you and Lincoln have been together – I hope he’s not the reason you’ve made your recent political changes – but I know that you understand how dangerous this is to your career. I want you to be very careful with how you handle this if you’re not going to end it with him. He seems like a good guy. Your mom will never admit it but she likes him and what he’s done for your campaign. But that will change in a nanosecond if she finds out that you’re together.”

Michael shook out of his fugue state. “You didn’t tell mom?”

Aldo’s eyes bulged. “Do you think that if I told your mother, she would have called you on the phone to tell you to speak to me? Jesus, Michael I don’t know if your mother would kill you first or herself. And there would be another dead body if she knew about Lincoln.”

“So you’re not going to tell her?” Michael asked carefully. He knew that his parents sometimes had a contentious relationship but, ultimately, they were soul mates.

Aldo paused to think. “I’m going to…let you do that when the time is right. With the stipulation that you wait until the end of the election. That would be better for all of us right now.”

Michael silently agreed.

After a minute, he finally found words to say. “I’m sorry, so sorry that I never told you the truth about who I am. I’ve thought many times that I should but it never seemed like the right time. If there ever is a right time to come out.” He paused and found the strength to lift his head.

Aldo looked calm, maybe a little red over the topic, but not full of the fury Michael expected.

“I’m also sorry that you saw us in the barn. I can’t really excuse it. I can only say that Lincoln didn’t pressure me into anything and that our relationship started after I hired him. We’ve been together for only three months.”

“And you want to stay with him,” Aldo said plainly.

Michael forced his eyes to meet his father’s. “Yes. I don’t know where it’s going or how long it’s going to last but he makes me happy. He’s good for me.”

“I’ve noticed and I’ve been very proud of you.”

Michael couldn’t quite believe him. “Even though you know now?”

Aldo patted his shoulder. “Yeah, Michael. You’re still my son no matter who you love. I worry though that you’ve chosen a career that isn’t particularly conducive to having success with a stable love life, whether you’re gay or straight. I also fear the ridicule that you’ll face when you decide to come out.”

“Maybe I won’t,” Michael whispered. But he couldn't imagine hiding for the rest of his life even as he spoke.

Aldo shifted to wrap his arm over Michael’s shoulder. “You’re a good man and I know you won’t want to live a lie. When you come out you’ll face whatever comes.”

Michael soaked in his father’s comfort for a second, thinking. “You said that you noticed I was missing from the New Year’s party? I didn’t think I was that obvious.”

Aldo shrugged. “You weren’t. But I’d already seen you both and you left together.”

“I wonder who else saw.” That time in the dark conference room had been so special and he hated to ruin it by wondering how many people were watching them sneak out. The thought made Michael’s stomach roll.

“I don’t know what to do,” he whispered.

“For now,” Aldo answered softly. “Try to be happy and stay true to what you believe. That’s all I can advise.”

“I think… I can do that.”

“I know you can kiddo.”

Michael cracked a small smile. “How are you handling this so well? I thought you’d be furious and I couldn’t even tell when I was sitting across from you.”

Aldo chuckled ruefully. “There are perks to being in the FBI. Don’t get me wrong, when I first saw you two I was furious but I love you, Mikey. I can’t be mad for too long.”

Michael was sure if his father was trying to shock him into a coma. “You haven’t called me Mikey since I was eight.”

“That might have been the last time you admitted that you didn’t know what to do either. I thought it was fitting.”

Michael snorted. His worries weren’t over, not in the slightest, but the knot in his stomach eased a little with his father’s support.

He knew that his mother’s reaction would be something else entirely.  
__

Sara was fixing her hair in Michael’s office when he came in the next morning. She did a double-take at the look on his face.

“You look like crap. Is he out there?”

Michael closed the door and frowned. “Who?”

“Isaac Welles. That reporter from the Indy Star. Possibly your biggest ally?” At Michael’s blank look she sighed dramatically and put her hair in a loose bun.

“He was at your New Year’s party, Michael, I introduced him to you. Come on! You can remember what color shoes I wore last week, what the entire staff had for lunch, and the chemical components of nail polish but you can’t remember a tall, dark, blue eyed hunk who talked to me for most of the night?”

“Oh him,” Michael remembered, rubbing a hand over his face. “Sorry, I was a little tipsy. All your fault, of course.”

“Right, right. Like you and Lincoln didn’t take complete advantage of that, sneaking away before the New Years countdown.”

Michael froze, his coat hanging from his hand. “You saw that.”

“Sure, I was looking for you. You usually give me a kiss.” Sara batted her eyelashes.

Michael spent the last night thinking and re-thinking what he wanted. His father’s acceptance had given him so much comfort and he thought that he’d been pretty lucky considering. But now that Sara had seen as well?

That tiny knot doubled and tripled on itself. Michael’s head started to pound and he wobbled into the seat facing his desk.

“Kissing me isn’t that traumatic,” Sara pouted. When Michael didn’t react, she came around to his side. “Okay, what happened? What did I say?”

“My dad knows. He told me yesterday.”

He saw Sara open her mouth in shock and close it with a dull click. “How?” She squeaked.

“He saw us way back in November. I, um, kissed him in our barn.” Michael couldn’t believe how stupid that had been.

“Holy…,” Sara covered her mouth. “Mike, what did he say? What does your mother think? Why are you just now telling me this?” The last question she punctuated with a sharp rap to his arm.

“I was thinking all night. I didn’t even call Lincoln.” Michael sighed. He was glad that Lincoln was preoccupied with training new interns yesterday and crashed back at his place.

If he’d called during the night, Michael had been so distracted that he hadn’t noticed. Lincoln’s morning schedule comprised going to their P.O. Box to retrieve the latest polling reports and when he came back Michael would have to tell him. He’d realized that Lincoln could very well decide that the risk was too great and end everything.

“Dad handled it well.” Michael continued his voice grim. “I think it’s because he had so much time to think about it. He saw us leave New Years too.”

Sara leaned down and hugged him. “Oh Michael, I’m so sorry.”

“For what?”

“This is the last thing you need right now.” She pulled back. “So he hasn’t told your mother yet?”

Michael shook his head. “He said he wanted me to do it in my own time, after the election.”

“That’s very smart. It could have been much worse.”

“Yeah, I know.” Michael sighed. “He told me to be happy. I just hope that Lincoln…”

“He what?” Sara encouraged when he trailed off.

Michael swallowed thickly. “That he still wants this.”

She tutted. “I’m sure he still does. That man’s infatuated with you.” She took the coat that was still in his hand and hung it up on the rack. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

“You know I didn’t.”

“Do you want me to reschedule with Isaac?”

Michael ran both hands through his hair. “It’s just an interview. Who knows, my ragged appearance might endear me to the voters.”

Sara put her hands on her hips with a grin. “See, now that’s looking to the bright side.”

“Right,” Michael sighed. “Go get me some coffee?”

“Only because your face might scare off the interns,” Sara reasoned, making Michael laugh.

She left, closing the door behind her, and Michael let his head fall into his hands. He was exhausted.

The networking they’d done during the party was starting to pay off. There were more contributors than ever before and invitations were coming in from all over the city for Michael to speak. More speeches meant longer nights creating and rehearsing them, in addition to staying on top of his mail and recent House and local news.

They’d also been receiving calls from people they didn’t know referenced to them by Michael’s mother. And she encouraged him over the phone to contact his Uncle Brian for an endorsement. So far, Michael hadn’t even had the chance to ask his uncle for help, they weren’t very close to begin with, but Michael had always assumed that Brian stood with the rest of his family politically. Especially when Brian didn’t respond to the New Year’s invitation.

A knock at the door dragged Michael out of his convoluted thoughts. He glanced up, seeing a man at the door. “Come in.”

Isaac Welles looked just as Sara said he would. Bright blue eyes, sharp cheek bones, and his medium build made an appealing picture. Michael immediately thought that he looked earnest enough to be the politician, not the reporter.

“Mr. Welles, I presume? Sara said you were on your way.”

Isaac gave him a friendly smile and they shook hands. “I’m glad that you have the time to speak with me.”

“Of course I do. You’re The Star.” He noticed Sara trying to open the door with mugs in both hands. “Here Sara is now. Can you open the door for her?”

From the moment Isaac swung open the door and took a mug from her, Michael could see their instant attraction. Sara went pink in the cheeks and suddenly had very little to say.

The interview went well, Michael thought, but Isaac spent most of his time watching Sara in the seat next to him. He thought they made a striking couple, both brown haired and bright eyed. Isaac was charming and intelligent, asking a range of questions from the personal (“Do you think being single makes you more appealing to female voters?”) to the abstract (“If you could meet a former President, living or dead, who would it be?”).

Lincoln arrived towards the end of the interview carrying two office boxes. He was in a t-shirt with his dress pants and the sleeve ended just above his bulging biceps. Michael barely dragged his eyes away from the sight as Lincoln dumped the boxes on his desk.

Lincoln greeted Isaac, oblivious to Michael’s struggle. He tried to focus on something else and caught Sara glancing nervously at Isaac just in time.

“Isaac, have you ever been to Some Guys Pizza a few blocks over?”

The reporter shook his head. “I’ve heard it was good though.”

“It is,” Lincoln joined in; apparently catching on to Michael’s thought.

“Sara, you should take him over there for lunch. Show him around.” Michael grinned at the look of horror on his best friend’s face. He hadn't seen it in a while and made him feel considerably better. “It’ll be my treat.”

Sara’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Isn’t there some rule about campaign funds and frivolous expenditures?”

Michael rolled his eyes and pulled his wallet out of his pocket. “Okay.” He held out a twenty and a ten. “There’s my money. Go have fun.”

Lincoln gave Michael a look that said he might be coming on too strong. He returned the look and attempted a softer tone. “Maybe you could iron out the details of a second interview?”

Isaac hadn’t said a word and Michael decided he was too tired to deal with uncertainty. “Unless you think your girlfriend will object, Isaac?”

“No,” Isaac murmured. “There’s no one-,”

Michael waved the money still in his hand. “Great. Come on Sara, my arm’s getting tired.”

She snatched the money away. “And to think I got you coffee this morning.”

“You didn’t want me scaring the interns away,” Michael reminded her. Sara was oblivious to what a favor he’d done for her and he was certain that he'd get the brunt of her anger for the next few days, even if the date went well.

Isaac was already shrugging into his coat, obviously wanting to go if Sara would only turn to see the eager light in the reporter’s eyes.

Thankfully, after a few mutterings Sara started for the exit. She seemed resolute to ignore Michael while also being mad at him but as the office door closed behind them, he wasn’t that concerned.

Finally, with the both of them alone in the office, there was no reason to keep yesterday’s events a secret. And yet, just as Michael prepared to drop the news, Lincoln came around to Michael’s side and sat facing him on the desk.

“You look tired. Is there something wrong?”

Michael thought about what his father told him about trying to be happy. He thought about the fact that his mother still didn’t know and how everyone had been telling him to be careful. He also thought about how he’d almost ruined the best night of his life by being too cautious and focusing on what he’d lost sleep over, what his mother worried about the most: who was watching.

Then he decided to lie.

“No,” Michael forced a tiny smile. “I was up reading last night and I’m a little tired.”

Out of sight, Lincoln’s knee brushed his own. “Are you busy tonight?”

Michael smiled, certain that he was keeping them together before he scared Lincoln away. He was saving them.

He licked his dry lips and watched Lincoln's eyes follow the motion.

“I’ve got time for you.”


End file.
